


Diplomacy

by sidewinder



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Established Relationship, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:02:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26931076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewinder/pseuds/sidewinder
Summary: Jeff and Michael share dinner in the Zocalo...and Jeff shares a secret about why he prefers nights in his quarters versus those of the security chief.
Relationships: Michael Garibaldi/Jeffrey Sinclair
Comments: 11
Kudos: 17
Collections: Fic In A Box





	Diplomacy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flowersforgraves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/gifts).



Michael Garibaldi was an easy man to spot, no matter how crowded the room—or the Zocalo, as the case might be. He currently was sitting at the bar of the newly-launched pizza stall, recognizable from afar by his tall frame, short hair, and grey uniform. Many humans and aliens hovered around the popular eating establishment, waiting on a free table or stool. But they all gave the security chief a wide berth, not wanting to crowd near him.

And no matter how hungry or eager they were, no one _dared_ take the empty stool besides his, marked by a gold “Reserved” sign on the countertop.

“I assume this is for me?” Commander Sinclair asked Michael with a small smile, as he walked up to claim the coveted chair.

“No one else gets a seat saved for them at the busiest time of the day.” The pizza stall had become quickly one of the most popular dining choices on Babylon 5, despite the premium price of many of the ingredients imported from Earth. Jeff and Michael had a standing date to get dinner here once a week, barring any station emergencies. And it had to be a truly critical situation to keep Michael Garibaldi away from—as he rated it—this “near perfect” taste of Italy.

Alessandro, the bartender and host, came over to them both with a smile. “Commander Sinclair, good to see you, as always.”

“And you as well. I see business is booming as usual.”

“What can I say? Pizza brings all the races of the known universe together. Well, except perhaps the pak’ma’ra. Though my _pizzaiolo_ is working on a new recipe that even they may enjoy.”

“I’m both intrigued and terrified by that possibility,” Michael said, between nibbles on a garlic-laced breadstick.

“Your usual, Commander?” Alessandro asked.

“The Vegetarian Supreme, yes. Though, if you could go easy on the onions tonight, I’d appreciate it.”

“No problem at all. I'll get both your orders fired up.”

“Stomach trouble?” Michael asked.

“Station trouble,” Jeff corrected. “It has been—how does Susan put it?—‘A. Day.’”

Michael snorted. “Must be something in the recycled air here. I had to deal with a belligerent Londo insisting that his quarters’ clogged plumbing was due to sabotage by G’Kar, and not just our lousy, corner-cutting engineering. Then we busted a gambling operation in Down Below involving fighting geero birds smuggled in from Zhabar, the Drazi homeworld. Let me tell you, the stench from their droppings is going to linger.”

“I can only imagine. And trust me, I’m happy to leave it to my imagination.” Alessandro brought Jeff a glass of water and some more breadsticks for them to snack on, as Michael had demolished most of their basket already.

“So what nonsense did you have to deal with today?” Michael asked.

Jeff sighed. “I had to help settle a dispute between the Gaim and the Cascor over mining rights to a planet to which both are making claims. Archeological relics found there suggest some previous insectoid race had either colonized it, or originated from it in the past. They're both asserting that they are the obvious descendant and heir.”

“Of course they are. What’s new around here.”

“On one hand, it was rather fascinating—their cultures and societal structures are so different from our own. But that makes it particularly exhausting and challenging from a diplomatic point of view.” Jeff had felt like his brain had to work on three levels at once, remembering the proper etiquette when communicating with both races, and trying to find a neutral middle ground to solve their problem.

“I’ll take dealing with Londo’s shit—figuratively and literally—over navigating diplomacy any day,” Michael remarked. “So how did you resolve things?”

“We haven’t, yet. I asked Stephen to review both the Gaim and Cascor’s scientific findings on the archeological site, see if he can provide a third-party, neutral view. I’m not expecting he can give me a clear answer, but at least he can provide me a few days to try to come up with a compromise.”

“Stalling, always a good choice when you have no idea what else to do, am I right?”

“You know me too well, Michael.”

“But at least the Gaim and Cascor don’t.”

They shared a small laugh over that, and a few other brief comments on the day. “Ah, here we go!” Michael sat back as their individual pies came out, piping hot and expertly cooked in under two minutes. Jeff wasn’t sure quite how they’d gotten approval _and_ designed safe venting for a wood-fired oven on Babylon 5, but he wouldn’t ask too many questions. He’d be happy to enjoy the appetizing results, as long as the station kept spinning, safe for another night.

“Sausage and broccoli rabe with garlic for _Signore_ Garibaldi,” Alessandro announced, “and a Vegetarian Supreme for Commander Sinclair—minus the onions. Gentlemen, _buon appetito_!”

“Ah, I’m in Heaven right now,” Michael sighed, ready to dive in with his knife and fork.

“And you’ll be in Hell later tonight, knowing what that’s going to do to your digestive system.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now, I am going to dig into this with a gusto that would horrify Doctor Franklin.”

“You and me both, Michael. Cheers.”

* * *

There was a second part to their weekly ritual—or at least it had evolved into such, through the passing months of their time on station. It would follow this particular course provided there were no extenuating circumstances, though in this case a disruption in routine could be due to less station-critical and more personal matters.

Such as, for instance, if Catherine happened to be on station.

“Hey, if we head back to my quarters, I got some new vid crystals from Earth this week. If you want to check them out,” Michael suggested as they gave up their chairs at the pizza stall, Jeff with a third of his pie boxed up for lunch tomorrow. “The complete ‘Die Hard’ movie series. I keep having people say I look like the main actor in them, but honestly I don’t see the resemblance. Maybe you’d be a more objective judge than I am.”

“Sounds fun, but...how about next week for that? I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow with the Brakiri ambassador, so if you don’t mind, my quarters would be better tonight. That way I don’t have to get up extra early to go back there and get ready.”

“Oh, okay. No problem,” Michael agreed.

There was an old Earth phrase Michael had used some time ago: “Friends with Benefits”. It was a phrase which very much described the nature of their relationship. Good friends, loyal protectors, trusted confidants.

Comfortable lovers, on somewhat regular occasions. Michael had made it clear early on he wasn’t up for anything more than that yet, as he was still working through his feelings for Lise. And Jeff had enough complications in the romance department sorting out his on-again-off-again relationship with Catherine. They’d agreed to not commit to being “exclusive” at this point, and while she was away so often, Michael was always, unfailingly, there when Jeff craved companionship. When he needed a chance to blow off steam and the tensions of his job in a physical, sexual manner.

The two navigated through the busy corridors of the Zocalo toward the transport tube to Jeff’s quarters. Jeff noticed that Michael had fallen uncharacteristically silent—at least until they were standing waiting for the tube, finally alone and free of the crowds.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Michael asked.

“Sure.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but, I’ve been noticing...every time lately we make plans to...y’know, see each other for the night? You always suggest your quarters right away. Even if we’re a lot closer to mine. I mean, I know my digs aren’t as luxurious as the station commander’s, but…” Michael paused and shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I was curious. Is there something wrong with my place? Don’t like the bedsheets? It can’t be the view, I mean, because _none_ of our quarters has a view.” He frowned and leaned in, anxiety clear in his expression. “Does it smell?”

“Michael…” Jeff started, cutting him off just as the tube arrived. But instead of getting in, where a Minbari and human maintenance worker were already on board, Jeff waved them on and pushed the button to send the tube on its way. He supposed he would have to tell his good friend the truth eventually. He had been avoiding the topic, hoping Michael wouldn’t notice.

But of course Michael would. His observant nature was part of what made him such a damn good security chief. “No, it does not smell. Not even when you get garlic pizza like tonight; that only makes your stomach rumble all night.”

“Sorry, I can’t help myself.”

“I know you can’t. But I do owe you an explanation. Though I fear you’re going to think I’m being...weird.”

“Jeff, you’ve _always_ been weird. Maybe not as weird as me, but weird in a different way, and we’re all a bunch of weirdos to want to be out here spinning around in a giant cylinder in the vacuum of space. So spill it.”

“It...actually _is_ the view. In a sense. The view of what I see hanging above your bed every time we’re in it.”

Michael blinked, his brain clearly puzzling this over, trying to picture the scene. His eyes widened, and then he exclaimed, “You mean, Daffy?!”

Jeff nodded, feeling his face flushing red with embarrassment.

“You don’t want to screw around my quarters because of my poster of Daffy Duck?!”

With a sigh, Jeff tried to explain, “It’s…distracting! It breaks the mood, for me. Doesn’t it for you? At all?”

“Are you kidding? Look, I love that damn duck but he’s the last thing on my mind when I’m in bed with someone. With you.”

“I can’t explain it more than that,” Jeff said with a shrug. “I could be on the verge of...completion, look up at that, and, well…”

“The flag’s gonna drop to half-mast?”

“Basically.”

Michael pondered this, pursing his lips and sliding his jaw back and forth as he tended to do while thinking about something. And then he burst into an uncontrollable giggling fit.

“I’m glad you find this so amusing.” Jeff couldn’t help chuckling a bit himself.

“I’m just...I’m sorry. I’m imagining the scene in my head and…” Michael paused for another burst of laughter, and then to pause and collect his breath. “Okay, I think I’m beginning...I’m starting to see your point. But why didn’t you ever say anything until now, Jeff? It’d take me all of five seconds to throw a towel or extra sheet over the damn thing on nights you’re coming over.”

“I guess I should have spoken up. For all my supposed skills in diplomacy, I guess I missed the mark here. But...I suppose it felt like me asking you to cover up a part of yourself. Something that is obviously important to you. A part of what makes you who you are, my friend.”

“It’s true that Daffy _is_ my second favorite thing in the universe. But have I ever told you what my _favorite_ thing is?”

“No, you haven’t.”

“It’s spending time—be it having dinner, sharing our woes, or sharing a bed—with the best friend I’ve ever known.”

Standing there in the hallway, hearing that genuine confession from Michael and seeing the searing truth of his words in his eyes, Jeff could have grabbed him for a hug and a kiss right then and there. But on Babylon 5 there was no such thing as privacy in these corridors, so he dared not risk it. They didn’t need anyone spreading rumors about Babylon 5’s upper echelon staff not being able to keep their personal and professional commitments separate. “Then how about we stop up in my quarters briefly to grab me a spare, clean uniform for tomorrow. And then we can go back to yours for the night so I can give you my verdict on your supposed doppleganger from the past.”

“Sounds like a plan. Though you’d better put your leftovers away in your fridge too, or else I’m likely to steal them in the middle of the night.”

“I don’t know where you put all that food.” Jeff shook his head as he pressed the button to summon the tube again.

“In my belly, right where it belongs.”

Much like, Jeff realized, how the two of them belonged together, too.

**Author's Note:**

> So I hope you don't mind that I was inspired by one of your Jeff/Michael prompts from an earlier exchange...the idea struck and I just couldn't get it out of my head!


End file.
